


The Winchesters That Never Were

by Browniesarethebest, SkyboundSparrow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 13:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3449231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Browniesarethebest/pseuds/Browniesarethebest, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyboundSparrow/pseuds/SkyboundSparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would Supernatural be like if Dean had never gotten Sam from Stanford? What would happen to Dean? Sam? How would the world be different if the boys weren’t there saving people, hunting things, the family business?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the first story either of us have written and posted on here, so it's quite an experience. It's a joint effort between myself and Brownies. The story pretty much explores the "what if" side of things, the "what if Dean never got Sam from Stanford that fateful night?" Updates will pretty much be irregular, and we'll post as we write, so please bear with us. Enjoy, guys.

It had been a few days since Dad disappeared and Dean Winchester was going crazy. Crazy enough that he'd thought about going to grab his little brother, Sam, at 2 a.m. and going together to find their father. He'd checked his phone a thousand times, staring at Sam's number on the glowing screen, debating on whether to call or not. Eventually he flipped his phone shut and threw it onto the seat next him. Who was he kidding? Sammy wanted out. Sammy chose to get out and never look back. Dean refused to be the party responsible for getting his little brother sucked into this madness again.

With that thought, he stepped on the gas of his beloved Impala and drove off into the night toward his father's last known coordinates.

Dean investigated the disappearances of men from the town of Jericho in California. There was no sign of his missing father, but he was able to put a vengeful ghost, a woman in white, to rest finally. A rock anthem sounded on his phone, alerting him to a text message. “Dean 35-111” it read. He was back on the road, searching for his father again.

Following the coordinates, Dean found much of nothing. He constantly looked through his dad’s hunting journal and called his father daily on the small hope that John Winchester would pick up. But he never did.

Dean still hunted and did his best to save the people that he could. Something he deeply regretted was a plane that he let go down and a demon that escaped. He did all he could from the ground. He called people, tried to save the victims, but it wasn’t enough. All because he refused to get on that damn plane. His fear of heights kept him grounded, and thus all those people died. It was something that he vowed to never let happen again.

The only thing he got from that failed case was a sign that John was still alive in the form of his dad’s voicemail directing callers to Dean’s cell phone. Nothing else happened for a while. He got a few cases, saved a lot of people. He faced a hookman, a ghost, and a wendigo to name a few. His dad’s journal was his guide, yet it could not tell him where his father had gone. He kept following the text messages he was getting, but otherwise it was complete silence.

One late night after a case with a crazy doctor ghost haunting an abandoned mental asylum, Dean’s phone rang. Groggily, he picked up his phone and let out a slurred, “Hello?”

_“Dean?”_ a familiar voice said on the other end of the line.

“Dad?”

_“Yes, it’s me.”_

“Where are you?”

_“That’s not important right now, Dean. Now I need you to listen to me and write down these names.”_

“Yes, sir.” Dean clambered out of bed and grabbed a pen and paper. “Okay, I got a pen.”

John listed out names and Dean dutifully wrote them down. When he finished with the list, John said, _“I need you to look into those. And you need to stop looking for me, that’s an order.”_

“Yes, sir. You’re hunting something, aren’t you?”

_“Yes, the demon that killed Mary. I’m close. But even talking to you right now is risky. There are eyes everywhere.”_

“Do what you gotta do. I’ll look into the names.”

Dean looked into the names, following the clue to a town using pagan rituals to keep their orchard alive and fertile. It seemed they were sacrificing couples to an old pagan god, Vanir. Dean found himself tied up to a tree for the sacrifice with another girl, but through a stroke of luck was able to cut his ropes and they both escaped. Then he neutralized the object of the pagan god’s power, thus ending the sacrificial cycle.

Hunting became all Dean did. He took all the hunts that Dad had laid out for him without question. Then he encountered the rawhead. He had just shooed the children hiding from the rawhead up the stairs when the monster knocked him to the basement floor. Even though he landed in a puddle of water, Dean used the only thing that could kill a rawhead: electricity. He pulled out a taser and shot it, the electricity running through the taser's wires, effectively killing the creature. However, the electricity ran through the puddle, reaching Dean. Volts of electricity shot through his body, frying his insides. The world disappeared from Dean’s vision as he fell into unconsciousness.

For how long Dean was unconscious, he had no clue, but he woke up in a hospital bed. The heart monitor beeped beside him in a steady rhythm. The hospital smelled like doctor, all sterilized and hygienic. It sickened him.

A pretty nurse came in to check on him. “Ah, you’re awake, good, mister….?”

He flashed a charming smile. “Rogers. Steve Rogers.”

“Well, Mr. Rogers, you’re lucky to be alive,” she said, looking at her clipboard. “The doctor will be with you shortly.”

“I’d rather hear whatever news the doctor has from a pretty face such as yours,” Dean replied.

The nurse glanced at her clipboard, obviously uninterested. “The doctor will be here shortly,” she repeated. Then she left.

A few minutes later, another woman came in. Her hair was up in a bun and she had a professional air about her. “Hello Mr. Rogers.”

This must be Dean’s lucky day. Two pretty female doctors? Yes, please. “Hi doc. What’s my diagnosis?”

“Mr. Rogers, when you were electrocuted, it caused you to have a heart attack. I’m afraid it severely damaged your heart.”

Dean’s smile slowly faded. “You can fix it, right?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Unfortunately your heart is so damaged that I doubt it’ll be able to support you for more than a few weeks, a month at most.”

His heart dropped. A feeling of dread washed over him and a cold feeling started in his feet, working its way up through his body. “I…”

“I’ll leave you now,” she said, her voice softening with sympathy. “Give you time to digest this new information. Then we can talk about your stay here.” With that, she left the room.

Dean looked at his bedside table where his phone was sitting. He stared at it, debating, before picking it up and dialing the number he knew by heart. The other person picked up after what felt like an eternity of ringing. “Sammy?”


	2. Chapter Two

_“Sam!”_

_Jess came around the corner of the apartment, wearing that nurse costume and adjusting her hat. She had looked great in it._

_“Get a move on, would you? We were supposed to be there like fifteen minutes ago.” She moved into the next room. “Sam!” she called again. “You coming or what?”_

_Sam poked his head around the corner. In contrast to Jess, Sam wore layered shirts and blue jeans. “Do I have to?”_

_“Yes! It’ll be fun.”_

_Sam walked into the room. Jess eyed him. “And where’s your costume?”_

_Sam laughed, ducking his head. “You know how I feel about Halloween.”_

__

_Later that night, they went to a Halloween party at a bar with their friends, mostly because Jess insisted. Everyone was drinking and in-costume. The bar had cobwebs strung up over a fake stone gargoyle. Music blared from speakers all over the joint._

_Jess raised a glass to their friend, Luis, who was dressed as a ghoul- facepaint and everything. He came over to the table where Jess and Sam were sitting._

_“So here's to Sam— and his awesome LSAT victory,” Jess said, smiling_

_“All right, all right, it's not that big a deal,” Sam replied._

_The three of them clinked their glasses together._

_“Yeah, he acts all humble. But he scored a one seventy-four,” Jess countered, looking at Luis._

_Luis downed his shot in one go. “Is that good?”_

_“Scary good.” Jess took a sip of her drink.._

_Luis looked at Sam, patting him on the back. “So there you go. You are a first-round draft pick. You can go to any law school you want!” He took a seat next to Sam._

_“Actually, I got an interview here. Monday. If it goes okay I think I got a shot at a full ride next year,” Sam told him._

_“Hey. It's gonna go great,” Jess reassured him._

_“It better.”_

_“How does it feel to be the golden boy of your family?” Luis asked Sam._

_Sam glanced down before looking at Luis again. “Ah, they don't know.”_

_“Oh, no, I would be gloating! Why not?”_

_“Because we're not exactly the Bradys.”_

_“And I'm not exactly the Huxtables,” Luis said as he got up. “More shots?_

_Sam and Jess turned in their chairs as Luis walked off, both calling after him, “No. No. No.”_

_Luis went up to the bar anyway._

_Jess turned back to Sam. “No, seriously. I'm proud of you. And you're gonna knock 'em dead on Monday and you're gonna get that full ride. I know it.”_

_Sam smiled. “What would I do without you?”_

_She looked a little smug. “Crash and burn.” She smiled and pulled Sam in for a kiss._

That had been weeks ago. He could still remember the euphoria of that night--that whole week really. He had gone into that interview, emerging from it with a confidence that he knew was only because of Jess. Later, he had found out that the interview had gone well and that he was accepted. It was possibly the best week of his life.

That all changed with Jessica’s death.

He had come home one night, still high on the fact that he got into law school. It had been a tiring day so he had just collapsed in his bed. He closed his eyes, ready to catch some sleep before maybe having a little ‘fun time’ with Jessica, when something had dripped onto his head. He had opened his eyes, confused, to find his girlfriend stuck to the ceiling, blood on her nightgown. She then had burst into flame, much to his horror. He had screamed for her, begging ‘No! No!,’ but eventually he had to get out if he didn’t want to die too.

The weeks after that were a blur. There was a funeral and multiple ‘sorry’s and ‘it’ll be okay’s, but he did not feel that he was truly there. To be honest, he blamed himself for Jessica’s death for multiple reasons. The thing that had killed his mother must have followed him to Stanford, and he had led it straight to Jessica. The main reason for his guilt, however, was that he had seen her death days before it had happened. He had dreamed of it every night, but he had foolishly wanted to believe that it would not come to be.

Now, she was dead, and he was alone.

He had debated calling Dad or Dean. He wanted to tell them what happened--that he understood now, but would his father even accept him? Sam remembered clearly what his father had said when he left.

“If you go, don’t come back!”

His dad would not let him back in, not so easily--if at all. He couldn’t call his father, but he didn’t think he could call his brother either. Dean was with Dad, and Dean had been upset at his leaving too. Dean probably hated him now.

Calling his family was out.

He knew what he had to do. He was going to kill the thing that had killed Jess. He realized that he sounded like his father, but, unlike his father, he would succeed. He wouldn’t make the same mistake as his father. He wouldn’t go on a rampage to destroy every single monster out there. He knew that the effort was futile. New monsters would always take their place.

No, he was going to focus on the thing. He was going to hunt it down or die trying. He would avenge Jess, and, in turn, avenge the mother he never knew.

So with that mission in mind, he left Stanford. He traveled throughout the country, stopping at towns with similar incidents to what he had experienced.

His nightmares became worse. He dreamed of death and pain and blood. He tried to ignore these dreams, but he couldn’t help but chase after one that had been of his birth home. He traveled to Lawrence, Kansas and ended up fighting against a poltergeist--with the help of a psychic he had found in the phone book, of course--and meeting his mother’s ghost. He saved a mother and her children and ended up gaining pictures of him and his ‘family’ in return. He took the photos, thanked the woman, and left. As soon as he was out of Lawrence, he took the photos and ripped his father out of every single one of them, throwing the torn remains to the wind. His father had disowned him. He didn’t deserve his forgiveness or love. He kept his brother in the pictures though. He still loved his brother, and he didn’t deserve the same hatred that Sam had for their father.

He was once again driving across the country when he suddenly got a phone call.

_“Sammy?”_

“Dean?” He didn’t sound good. “Are you all right? Why… Why are you calling me?”

_“Hey, little brother. So, uh, I know it’s been a while, but… Shit, uh… I’m dying.”_

Sam froze. He immediately pulled over and held the phone tighter. “What? Dean, you aren’t serious. Where’s Dad?”

_“I dunno, Sammy. I’m in a hospital in Nebraska. The doc just came in. She said I have maybe two weeks to live.”_

“I’m driving there right now. What’s the name of the hospital? The town? You’ll be fine, Dean. I’m not--I’m not going to lose you too.” Sam gripped the steering wheel, fighting back tears. He had already lost Jess. Why Dean too?

_“It’s okay, Sammy. It’s not like Mom. You can say goodbye this time.”_

Sam swallowed harshly. “It’s--That’s not what I mean. I…” He couldn’t say it.

_“You what, Sammy? Spit it out.”_

“...I was talking about my girlfriend, Dean. It killed her.”

_“Man, I’m so sorry.  By ‘it’ do you mean…?”_

“Yeah. I do. Look, just give me the info and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Dean quickly relayed where he was before hanging up. Sam threw his phone aside, closing his eyes and sighing before gripping the steering wheel. He wasn’t going to lose Dean too. As soon as he got to Nebraska, he’d find a way to save Dean. There had to be a way.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy your last bit of almost-normal canon while you can. Also, thanks for reading, and enjoy.

Sam arrived at the hospital, dodging his way through nurses, continually asking for the name Dean had given him. “Steve Rogers. I’m looking for Steve Rogers. Where can I find Steve Rogers?” Finally, a nurse pointed him in the right direction. There he was, like a broken angel lying in his hospital bed. He couldn’t help it, the name slipped out. “Dean!”

“Sam?” Dean’s head popped up at the sound of his brother’s voice. His green eyes lit up at the sight of the tall, lanky figure of Sam Winchester in the hallway outside his room. A smile stretched across his face.

“Dean…” Sam walked closer and looked down at his brother. Sam swallowed back the emotion he felt rising in his throat. He had never seen Dean look so vulnerable--or vulnerable at all for that matter. Dean was always the strong one. He was always the one to be up and moving around when they were stuck in the dirty motels. It was strange to see him there in the bed watching...daytime TV? “Are you watching daytime TV?”

“What, no. No. This crap? No, the nurses just put it on while they were doing their tests. I’m just too lazy to change it. Something about this sexy doctor or something. Doesn’t matter,” Dean said quickly. “Fancy seeing you here, Sammy.”

“Uh huh. Yeah. Sure.” Sam cracked a small grin and reached for the remote. “Well, I guess I’ll change it if you really hate it _that_ much...”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Dean covered up the remote with his hand. “I have to see if Dr. Sexy is able to figure out which of the doctors is the real one and which one is her evil twin sister--I mean… so that I can laugh at how stupid it is, of course.”

Sam quirked an eyebrow, his grin growing wider. “All right. All right. I get it. I won’t get in the way between you and… Dr. Sexy.” Sam suddenly frowned. “But seriously, Dean. You’re dying. We need to figure out a way to help you.”

“Like how, Sammy? The doctors told me there’s nothing they can do,” Dean said. “There’s nothing to be done.”

“Dean, we hunt the supernatural. There’s bound to be a spell or a potion or _something_ to save you! You’re my brother, Dean. You’re all I have left, and I’m not going to lose you too.”

Dean shook his head. “You’re not gonna let me die in peace, are you?”

“I’m not going to let you die, period. I’m going to find a way. I was always the one to do research, back when…” Sam fell silent. “...So yeah. I’m going to find a way. You hang tight and watch more Dr. Handsome or whatever. I’ll be back later.”

 

A few hours later, Dean was out in the front of the hospital, trying to wrangle the stupid plastic wristbands off. He was a little short of breath, a little weaker, but Dean didn’t care. He was just glad to be out of that place.

“Dean! What the hell, man?” Sam rushed up to Dean. “Are you nuts? You’ll kill yourself putting that much stress on your body! Why are you even out here? Get back in bed!” He started ushering Dean back inside.

“I checked myself out,” Dean said, swatting one of Sam’s hands away. There was no way in hell he was going back to that place. “If I’m gonna die, I’m not gonna do it in a hospital where the nurses aren’t even hot.”

“You know, this whole I-laugh-in-the-face-of-death thing? It's crap. I can see right through it.” Sam crossed his arms, glaring at Dean.

“Yeah, whatever man.” Dean looked closely at Sam. “Have you slept recently? Or even at all? No offense, dude, but you look worse than me and that’s sayin’ something.”

Sam rolled his eyes and started leading Dean to his car. “I’ve been scouring the internet for the last three days, trying to find a way to help you.”

“You come up with anything yet?”

“Actually, yeah. There are stories about this guy in Nebraska. A specialist.”

“A specialist, huh? Oh, this should be good.” Dean took a look at Sam’s car, a Charger, sitting in front of him. “Aw, hell no. I’m not getting in that thing. Where’s my baby?”

“I’m putting it in storage until we can make you better.” Sam tried to hold back his smile. Watching Dean get upset over a _car_ of all things was pretty entertaining. “I think you can survive in my car until then.”

“When I die, you better take care of my car, Sammy, or I will haunt your ass. She needs to be driven, not stored,” Dean retorted. He opened the passenger door and grumpily slid into the seat, crossing his arms to show his dissatisfaction with the situation.

Sam frowned as he got into the driver’s seat. “I don’t think that’s funny.”

“Oh, come on. It’s a little funny, you gotta admit.”

Sam said nothing, choosing instead to glare out the windshield to fight back his tears.

“This job is dangerous, Sammy. I just happened to draw the short straw this time. That’s all.” Dean looked over at his brother.

“Don’t talk like that, alright? We still have that specialist in Nebraska. He could save you.”

“If that makes you feel better, alright. We’ll check out this specialist of yours. Just don’t get your hopes up.”

Sam gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to snap back at Dean that he _will_ save him. Instead, he just pressed down on the gas and left the parking lot.

* * *

Dean looked around at the place where this specialist was supposed to do business. “Congrats, Sammy, your Charger finally got us here. The Impala would’ve been a lot faster, you know. Also a lot smoother.”

“With your driving skills? I’m sure it would have. However, I like not getting pulled over. Now get out of the car.” Sam got out and went to the other side, intending to help Dean. “Here, I got you.” He reached out.

“I’m not eighty, Sam.” Dean clambered out of the car, ignoring Sam’s outstretched hand.

“No, you just have a failing heart.” Sam sighed. “Come on.” He walked towards a tent with a sign that read “Welcome All Faiths. True Believers Revival.”

Dean followed his brother, looking at the set up with critical eyes. “Man, you are a lying bastard. Thought you said we were going to see a doctor.”

“I believe I said a specialist.” Sam sighed again. “Look, Dean, this guy’s supposed to be the real deal.”

“I can’t believe you brought me to some guy who heals people out of a tent,” Dean replied. This was absurd, in Dean’s not-so-humble opinion. What made Sam think this guy could do something when real doctors couldn’t?

An elderly woman walking by heard Dean. “Reverend LeGrange is a great man.”

“Yeah, that’s nice. I’m sure he is,” Dean grumbled.

The boys walked past two men on their way to the tent. One was a sheriff, the other was a disgruntled civilian.

“I have a right to protest. This man is a fraud. And he's milking all these people out of their hard-earned money,” the disgruntled man was saying.

The cop crossed his arms. “Sir, this is a place of worship. Let's go. Move it.” The cop took the man he was talking to by the arm and moved him away.

“Looks like not everyone’s part of the flock,” Dean commented, watching them walk away. He looked back at Sam.

“But when people see something they can’t explain, there’s controversy.”

“But a faith healer, Sam? Come on. Even you gotta know that’s a little ridiculous.”

“Maybe it’s time to have a little faith, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, you know what I got faith in? Reality,” Dean said. “Knowing what’s really going on.”

“How can you be a skeptic? With the things we see everyday?”

“Exactly, Sam. We see them, we know that they’re real. I don’t have a doubt in my mind about that.”

“But if you know evil’s out there, how can you not believe good’s out there too?” Sam didn’t understand. How could Dean live the life he’s lived and _not_ believe that there could be a healer?

Dean’s mind flashed back to a multitude of cases, to monsters, to people, to the things that go bump in the night. “Because I’ve seen what evil does to good people.”

A young woman nearby overheard the conversation and walked over. “Maybe God works in mysterious ways.”

Dean turned to look at the new speaker, a pretty blonde woman. His eyes took a good look at her, stopping briefly at the important parts. Needless to say, he liked what he saw. “Maybe he does. I think you just turned me around on the subject.”

The woman rolled her eyes, smirking. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Dean held out his hand for her to shake. “Hi. I’m Dean. This is Sam.” He gave her his most charming smile.

The woman took his hand and asked, curious, “Layla. So if you’re not a believer, then why are you here?”

“Well apparently my brother here has enough faith for the both of us.”

An older woman suddenly approached and wrapped her arm around Layla. “Come on, Layla. It’s about to start.” The woman (Layla’s mother?) smiled at the boys and walked into the tent with Layla.

Sam and Dean followed them inside. There were all sorts of people inside the tent quietly talking amongst themselves. Sam insisted that they sit up front instead of in the back, where Dean wanted. The show began when an older gentleman walked onto the makeshift platform. He wore sunglasses and by the way his wife guided him, Dean assumed that Roy LeGrange was blind. He started to talk, but Dean mostly zoned out for the guy’s speech as he rambled on about the gift that God had given him and some other religious crap.

He was startled out of his reverie when Sam nudged him, and he looked up to see Roy pointing at him. “You. What’s your name?” Roy asked him.

Dean looked around. “Me?”

“Yes, you, young man.”

“Dean.”

“Dean,” Roy repeated, as if rolling the name around on his tongue.“I want… I want you to come up here with me.”

Dean smiled and shook his head. “No, no, it’s okay.”

Sam looked at him as if he had just grown another head. He whispered harshly, “What are you doing?!”

Roy stared at the man with his unseeing eyes. “You’ve come here to be healed, haven’cha?”

Dean hesitated. “Well ahhhh yeah...” -the crowd clapped- “but maybe you should just pick someone else.”

Roy smiled. “Oh no, Dean. I didn’t pick you. The Lord did.”

The crowd cheered, becoming more excited. “Yeah! Come on!”

Sam became as excited as the crowd, ushering Dean to stand up. “Get up there!”

Dean heaved himself up off the chair, Roy’s wife coming to help him as he painstakingly made his way up to the stage to stand in front of Roy.

“You ready?” Roy asked.

Dean looked at him, a skeptical, almost apologetic, look crossing his face. “Look, I don’t mean any disrespect, but ahhh, I’m not exactly a believer.”

Roy smiled. “That’s okay, son, because you will be. You will be.” He directed his next words to the crowd. “Pray with me, friends.” The reverend slowly raised his hands up to the sky, one making its way to Dean’s shoulder, then it patted its way up to the top of Dean’s head. The tent was silent except for Roy’s low “alright now”s that he said to himself.

Dean’s eyes glazed over and he sunk to his knees as some sort of cold force pulled him down. It was like a heavy weight inside of him and he started to feel woozy. The room started spinning and he started seeing double. His ears rang, and then all he felt was his face hitting the floor.

The next time he opened his eyes, he took a huge breath, gasping. Sam was there over him, saying something, but Dean couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. All of his attention was focused on something behind the reverend: a tall, pale, wrinkled man in a suit. He looked at Sam, wondering if his brother could see him too, but there was nothing on his face to suggest that he saw. When Dean looked back, the man was gone.

Roy was still onstage, smiling, the crowd clapping as he declared, “This young man has been healed!”

* * *

“So, you really feel okay?” Sam eyed Dean warily.

"I feel fine, Sam,” Dean replied, a slight frown on his face.

The doctor entered, looking down at the papers in his hands. “Well, according to all your tests there's nothing wrong with your heart. No sign there ever was. Not that a man your age should be having heart trouble, but, still it's strange it does happen.”

Dean blinked, processing this information. “What do you mean, strange?”

“Well, just yesterday, a young guy like you, twenty-seven, athletic. Out of nowhere, heart attack.”

“Huh. Well, thanks, Doc,” Dean said.

“No problem,” the doctor replied, leaving the brothers’ room.

Dean turned to Sam. “That’s odd, Sam. Some young guy like that, heart attack. Sounds fishy, right?”

“Maybe it’s a coincidence. People’s hearts give out all the time.” Deep down, Sam didn’t really believe his words.

"No, they don’t.” Dean hopped off the examining table. “Not like that.”

“Look, Dean. Do we really have to look this one in the mouth?” Sam was really starting to get frustrated with Dean. “Why can’t we just be thankful that the guy saved your life and move on?”

“There’s something wrong here and I can’t shake this feeling, that’s why.”

Sam looked at Dean, confused. “What feeling?”

"When I was healed… it just felt… wrong. I felt cold. And there was someone there, for a second. This, uh, old man. And I’m telling you, Sam, it was a spirit.”

"But if there was something there, Dean, I think I would’ve seen it too.”

“I’ve been hunting way too long to ignore a feeling like this. You’re just gonna have to have a little faith.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah, alright. Whatever. What do you wanna do?”

“I’m gonna go talk to the reverend. You go check on the heart attack dude.”

* * *

Dean sat in the reverend's living room, right across from the reverend and his wife, Sue Ann. Dean examined the reverend more closely this time, trying to determine what the old man’s secret was and how he was killing and healing people. He gave them a charming smile to hide his intentions for his visit. “I feel great, you know. Better than I ever felt. I’m just- I’m just trying to make sense of what happened.”

Sue Ann gave him a kind, but polite, smile. “It was a miracle, that’s what happened. Miracles happen all the time around Roy.”

Dean focused his attention on Roy. “When did they start? The miracles?”

“Woke up one morning, stone blind. Doctors figured out I had cancer. Told me I had maybe a month. So, uh, we prayed for a miracle. I was weak, but I told Sue Ann, 'You just keep right on praying.' I went into a coma. Doctors said I wouldn't wake up, but I did. And the cancer was gone,” the reverend said. He pulled off his sunglasses, revealing purely white eyes. “If it weren’t for these eyes, no one would ever have believed it.”

 "And suddenly you could heal people,” Dean said.

 “I discovered it afterwards, yes. God blessed me in many ways.”

Sue Ann smiled, putting a hand on Roy’s shoulder. “And his flock just swelled overnight. This is just the beginning.”

“Can I ask you just one more question?”

“Of course you can,” Roy said.

This was the question Dean really wanted the answer to. “Why? Why me? Out of all the sick people in that tent, why did you choose to save _me_?”

Roy smiled, as if he’d heard this question so many times before from so many different people. “Well, like I said before, the Lord guides me. I looked into your heart, and you just stood out from all the rest.”

“What did you see in my heart?”

 “A young man with an important purpose. A job to do. And it isn’t finished.”

Dean’s eyes widened; he sat back in his chair, digesting the words of the reverend. He almost forgot that he had a job to do.

* * *

“I'm telling you, he seemed healthy. Swam every day, didn't smoke. So, a heart attack just kind of seemed, well, bizarre.”

Sam was currently questioning a friend of Marshall Hall, the young man who suddenly had a heart attack. The circumstances seemed strange and only seemed to become stranger as the friend continued to talk.

“And you said he was running, right before he collapsed?”

“Yeah, yeah, he was freaking out. He said that something was, uh, was after him.”

“Did he say what?”

"Well, thin air is what. I mean, it wasn't anything. “ Sam didn’t think it wasn’t anything.

“Alright, thanks.” As Sam turned to leave, he noticed that the clock on the wall wasn’t working. “Hey, buddy? Your clock isn’t working.”

“Oh, yeah, we, uh, can't get it workin'. Just froze at 4:17.”

“Is that the same time that Marshall died?”

"Yeah.” The man looked surprised. “How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess.” Sam left, apprehension gripping him. Maybe Dean was right. Something was wrong.

* * *

Layla was standing outside Roy’s place when Dean came out from his visit with the reverend and his wife. There was that same older woman with her that looked similar to her, who Dean assumed was her mother. Her mother was down off the porch, talking to someone on the phone in a hushed tone.

“Dean, hey.”

He turned in surprise. “Hey.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I feel good. Cured, I guess. What are you doing here?”

She looked at her mother, then back at Dean. “You know, my mom, she wanted to talk to the reverend again.”

Just then, Sue Ann came out onto the porch where the two were standing. She looked at the woman curiously. “Layla?”

“Yes, I’m here again,” she responded softly, looking down as if she was almost ashamed, but Dean knew that whatever was ailing her, she was just looking for a miracle like everyone else.

Sue Ann looked at her sympathetically, but her tone was firm. “Well, I’m sorry, but Roy is resting. He won’t be seeing anyone else today.”

Layla’s mother chose this time to approach the porch. “Sue Ann, please. This our sixth time we’ve been here. He’s got to see us.”

Her voice stayed firm, her eyes hardening at the woman’s dogged persistence. “Roy is well aware of Layla's situation. And he very much wants to help just as soon as the Lord allows. Have faith, Mrs. Rourke.” She then turned and went back inside her home, leaving them alone.

Mrs. Rourke looked at Dean. Her eyes bore into him, filled with hatred and enmity for him. “Why are you still even here? You got what you wanted.”

Layla looked at her mother. “Mom. Stop.”

“No, Layla, this is too much. We've been to every single service. If Roy would stop choosing these strangers over you.” -she chose to give another glare at Dean right then- “Strangers who don't even believe. I just can't pray any harder.”

Dean scrunched his eyebrows in genuine concern. “Layla, what’s wrong?”

She hesitated. “Well… I have this thing…”

Her mother cut in for her, blasé about it. “It’s a brain tumor. The doctors can’t operate. In six months, the doctors say…”

Layla put a hand on her mother’s shoulder. Her mother took it, stopping her train of thought.

Dean felt a pang of sorrow for her, but most of all, he felt guilt. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Layla said quietly.

Something steeled in Layla’s mother and she brought her eyes up to meet Dean’s. “No, it’s not.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you deserve to live more than my daughter?”

Dean was at a loss for words. He wasn’t given a chance to respond anyway as Mrs. Rourke and Layla walked away. Layla cast a sad glance back at him as she left. Mrs. Rourke’s words never left him, though. Why _did_ he deserve to live more than Layla? Why did he even _deserve_ to live?

* * *

Dean walked into him and Sam’s motel room later that evening, tossing his keys on the bed and tiredly pulling off his jacket. Sam was already there, on his laptop, not to Dean’s surprise. “What’d you find out about heart attack guy? Anything?”

Sam was silent for a moment. He spoke quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Dean threw his jacket onto the bed with his keys and approached Sam. “Sorry about what?”

“I… Marshall Hall died at 4:17.”

Dean said nothing, absorbing the information, the gears moving in his head. “The exact time I was healed,” he stated, the realization dawning on him. He felt his newly-healed heart sink in a swimming pool of guilt. At this rate, his heart would be Michael Phelps by the end of the week.

“Yeah… So, I put together a list of everyone Roy's healed, six people over the past year, and I cross-checked them with the local obits. Every time someone was healed, someone else died. And each time, the victim died of the same symptom LeGrange was healing at the time.”

“So lemme get this straight. Someone’s cured of cancer and another dies of it?”

“Basically. LeGrange is trading one life for another.”

“Wait, wait, wait. So Marshall Hall _died_ to save me?”

“He would have died anyway, Dean. Someone else would have been healed in your place, probably that Layla girl.” It still didn’t justify what Sam had done.

Sam’s Layla comment brought Dean back to her mother’s words: ‘ _why do you deserve to live more than my daughter?’_ They wouldn’t stop ringing in his head. “You never should have brought me here, Sam.”

“I was trying to save your life, Dean!”

“Some guy out there is dead because of me!”

Sam was silent, refusing to look at Dean. He looked down at his hands instead, mumbling, “I didn’t know.”

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know you didn’t.”

Sam looked up from his hands. “The thing I don’t understand is how Roy is doing this. How is he trading a life for a life?”

Dean shook his head. “He’s not doing it. Something else is doing it for him.”

“What do you mean?”

“The old man I saw on stage. I didn’t wanna believe it, but deep down I knew. There’s only one thing that can give and take life like that. We’re dealing with a reaper.”

“Dude. You really think it’s _the_ Grim Reaper? The angel of death? Collects your soul? All that?”

“Nah, man, not _the_ Grim Reaper, _a_ reaper. There’s tons of lore all over the world from too many different cultures for there to be just one.”

“But you said you saw a dude in a suit.”

“What, you think he should be workin’ that stereotypical black robe thing?” Dean asked. He paused for a moment, recalling what Sam had told him. “Wait, you said that the clock stopped at the time of Marshall’s death, right? Well, reapers stop time. And you can only see them when they’re after you. So that explains why I could see it and you couldn’t.”

“Maybe…” Sam didn’t look so sure.

“If you have any ideas as to what it is, lay it on me, Einstein. But as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing else it could be. The only question left is how Roy’s controlling the damn thing.”

Sam suddenly sat up straighter. “That cross.”

“What?”

“There was this cross. I noticed it in the church and I knew I had seen it before.” Sam dug through some papers and snorted. He held up a card to Dean. “Here.”

Dean leaned over, taking the card to examine it further. It was an intricate little design with a cross on it. “A tarot?”

“It makes sense. A tarot dates back to the early Christian era right, when some priests were still using magic? And a few of them veered into the dark stuff? Necromancy and how to push death away, how to cause it?"

Dean looked at the tarot card again, then placed it back on the table. “So you’re saying that Roy’s using black magic to bind this thing and make it do what he wants?”

Sam snorted again. “If he is, he’s riding the whirlwind. It’s like putting a dog leash on a great white.”

"Okay, then we stop Roy," Dean said simply, as if it were the most casual thing in the world.

Sam stared. “...Dean. We’re not killing him.”

"The guy's playing God, he's deciding who lives and dies. That's a monster in my book."

“We’re not killing a human, and an old man at that! If we do that, we’re not better than he is.”

Dean threw up his hands in exasperation. "Okay, fine, so we can't kill Roy, and we sure as hell can't kill death. You got any bright ideas, college boy?"

Sam rolled his eyes. “Okay. Uh...If Roy's using some kind of black spell on the reaper, we gotta...figure out what it is. And how to break it.”

* * *

The next day, the boys rolled into Roy LeGrange's congregation area where a crowd was gathering for his next service. They had to be quick, before someone else was healed and someone else died.

“If Roy’s using a spell, there might be a spellbook,” Sam said.

“See if you can find it,” Dean said, glancing at his watch. “Hurry up. The service starts in fifteen minutes. I’ll try to stall, go.”

Sam nodded and quickly made his way to Roy’s house. He watched as Roy, his wife, and another man came down the stairs and left. He made sure that they were gone before climbing through a window. He searched throughout the house, looking at bookshelves, and noticed a single book that did not have dust on it, unlike the rest of the books. He pulled it out, reading the title, _Encyclopedia of British History_ , but found nothing. He suddenly noticed a much smaller book that had been hidden by the book he was holding. He pulled it out and flipped through it. He found all sorts of pictures and information. There was a picture of a skeleton reaper, the wooden cross he found in the tent earlier, and newspaper articles about the people who died. The guy who died for Dean was an openly gay teacher, and the jogger was an abortion rights advocate. He found a third clipping about the man who handed out pamphlets in front of the tent.

He had to call Dean.

* * *

Dean made his way into the tent where the service was being held, instantly gravitating to the side of the tent. There were already people there, waiting for it begin, waiting for their chance to be healed. If only they knew….  His phone rang. “What do you got, Sam?”

“Roy’s choosing victims that he sees as immoral. I think I know who’s next too. Remember the protester?”

 “Who? You mean that guy in the parking lot?”

“Yeah. I’ll find him. You go stop Roy from healing anyone.”

Dean flipped his phone shut and headed to the front of the tent. Scenarios on how to stop what was about to occur flashed through his mind. He’d figure it out, he had to.

Roy was onstage, his blind eyes looking out at the crowd. He smiled. “Layla. Layla Rourke, come up here, child.”

Dean cursed under his breath. The crowd applauded as Layla stood to hug her mother on her way up to Roy. As she passed Dean, he grabbed her arm. “Layla, listen to me. You can’t go up there.”

“What? Why? We’ve been waiting for months.”

Dean’s voice was stern. “You can’t let him heal you.”

Her face was colored with confusion. “I don’t understand. He healed you, didn’t he? Why can’t you let him try?”

“Because if you let him, something bad is going to happen. I can’t explain. Just, please, you have to believe me.”

A moment between them passed with no words, only Dean’s begging eyes and Layla’s confused look. Sue Ann’s voice broke the silence. “Layla.”

Layla looked over where Sue Ann had her hand held out. She looked back at Dean. “I can’t.” Then she took Sue Ann’s hand and went to the stage to stand beside Roy.

* * *

Sam was searching for the protester when he suddenly ran around a car, screaming, “Help!”

Sam ran up to the man as he kept screaming. “Where is he?”

The man grabbed Sam’s shoulder and pointed to thin air. “There!”

Sam grabbed the man’s wrist and dragged him in the opposite direction. “Come on!”

Sam’s phone suddenly rang. “Yeah?”

 _"I did it. I stopped Roy.”_ Dean’s voice came from the other end of the line.

 Sam turned towards the protester. “I think it’s okay now.”

 The man looked around for a moment, nodding, before turning around and suddenly paling. “No!”

 Sam’s eyes widened at the sight of the protester suddenly turning gray and yelled into his phone. “Dean! It didn’t work! The reaper’s still here! Roy must not be the one controlling it!”

 " _Then who the hell is?”_ There was a pause. _“Sue Ann. It’s Sue Ann.”_ Then Dean’s gone.

 The protester suddenly collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. Sam kneeled and carefully helped the man up. “I got you, man. I got you.”

 The man sucked in a shaky breath. “Thank God.”

* * *

Dean faced Sue Ann outside the tent. After stopping her from whatever the hell she’d been doing with that cross of hers, she’d called two police officers to bring him outside the tent. Now she faced him with fury in her eyes, though her body language conveyed none of that.

“I just don’t understand. After all we’ve done for you. Roy healed you, and this is how you repay him? I’m just very disappointed in you, Dean.”

Dean stayed silent.

Her attention turned to the police officers. “You can let him go. I’m not going to press charges. The Lord will deal with him as He sees fit.” She gave one last glare at Dean before she left him there with the officers.

The police didn’t seem quite happy either. The one on his left said, “We catch you around here again and we’ll put the fear of God in you, understand?”

“Yes, sir, fear of God. I understand,” Dean replied, trying not to sound sarcastic. The officers pushed him away before they left him there outside the tent. Only unfortunately he was not alone. Layla stood in front of him. There were tears in her eyes. “Layla?”

“Why did you do that, Dean? Why did you stop the service with a false fire? It could have been my only chance.”

“He’s not a healer.”

“He healed you.”

Dean tried to find the words to make her understand. “I know it doesn’t seem fair, and I wish I could explain, but Roy is not the answer, I’m sorry.”

Her gaze hardened. “Goodbye, Dean.” She walked a few steps, then turned back. “I wish you luck, I really do.”

Dean’s voice cracked as he said, “You too.” Then she was headed over to her mother and Roy. Under his breath, he said, “You deserve way better than me.” He walked over to where his brother stood, waiting. They were both close enough to hear that Layla had a private healing session that evening.

* * *

The boys were now back in their motel room. Sam sat down on the bed while Dean stood nearby.

“So Roy really believes he’s healing people.” Sam didn’t look very happy as he said it.

“I don’t think he has any clue as to what his wife’s doing.”

“Well, I found this.” He handed the book to Dean. “It was hidden in their library. The thing’s ancient, written by a priest who went darkside. There’s a binding spell in it for trapping a reaper.”

"Must be a hell of a spell, then.”

“Yeah. You gotta build a black altar with seriously dark stuff. Bones, human blood… As a preacher’s wife, she crossed a serious line. Black magic. Murder. Evil…”

“She was desperate. Her husband was dying and there was nothing to save him. She used the spell to keep the reaper away from Roy,” Dean said, piecing the puzzle together on Sue Ann’s motives.

Sam quirked an eyebrow. “Cheating death. Literally.”

“Yeah, but Roy’s alive, so why is she still using the spell?”

"To force the reaper to kill people she things are immoral.”

 “May God save us all from those who think they’re doing His work,” Dean groaned.

 “We gotta break that binding spell, Dean.” Sam looked worried.

 Dean looked down at the pictures in the book Sam had stolen. His eyes glanced over them. He pointed at one of the crosses. “Sue Ann had a cross like this one. When she dropped it the reaper backed off.”

Sam looked up at Dean. “You think we gotta find the cross or destroy the altar?”

“Either, or, or maybe both. I don’t know, but we gotta do it and we gotta do it fast. Layla’s being healed tonight.”

* * *

The Charger pulled into Roy’s property that night, the lights off, going for as quiet as they possibly could. There was another car in the area by the time they’d pulled in.

“That’s Layla’s car. She’s already here,” Sam said.

Dean nodded sadly. “Yeah.”

“Dean…”

“You know if Roy picked Layla instead of me, she’d be healed and on her merry way. She’s gonna die in a coupla months if she’s not healed tonight.” Dean looked at Sam, his eyes betraying his pain in having to do this, this condemning a good person to death.

“What’s happening to her is horrible, but what are you gonna do, Dean? You said it yourself. You can’t play God.”

Dean didn’t say anything. He got out of the car, Sam tailing him, and they peeked into the tent where Roy and a smaller group of followers was convening for Layla’s healing.

“Gather ‘round, everyone, please, gather ‘round. Come closer, come closer,” Roy was saying.

“Where’s Sue Ann?” Dean whispered.

Sam pointed. “House.”

“Go find Sue Ann, I’ll catch up.”

Sam spoke as Dean started pushing him away. “What are you gonna…?”

Dean ran off, spotting the two cops from earlier. He smiled coyly, knowing he was going to get into some trouble. “Hey fellas!” The policemen looked over. “You gonna put the fear of God in me?” The police barely looked at each other before taking off after Dean, who gave chase and ran off.

As soon as they were gone, Sam ran up the stairs and checked around the house. It was completely dark. Confused, Sam looked around and spotted light peeking out of the basement entrance. He crept over to the doors and slipped inside. He moved quietly through the basement until he came upon a lit altar littered with body parts and blood. There was a photo of Dean in the middle. His face had been crossed out with blood.

A voice spoke from behind Sam. “I gave your brother life and I can take it away.”

Infuriated, Sam tipped the altar over and then ran at Sue Ann, who was already up the stairs. She closed the hatch and secured it, sealing Sam inside.

“Sam, can’t you see? The Lord chose me to reward the just and punish the wicked. And your brother is wicked and he deserves to die just as Layla deserves to live. It is God's will.”

Sam turned to survey the room.

“Goodbye, Sam.”

* * *

Dean ran from the cops for a little bit, dodging them with switching directions and hiding, finally hiding on top of a trailer parked in the area. Once the police were gone, figuring Dean had gone, he lowered himself back to the ground and went to find Sam. Unfortunately, Dean didn’t go too far before he was stopped. He was frozen to the spot.

A few yards in front of him was a spectre he had hoped never to see again. It was the reaper, clad in the garb that Dean had last seen him in. It was still the same wrinkled pale guy that Dean remembered. Unfortunately, the reaper was after him again, just like last time too.

Dean started running, but the reaper was now in front of him. An emaciated hand reached out and placed itself on Dean’s head. Dean fell to his knees, a cold fiery pain rushing through him. The cold rushed through his entire body, chilling him to the core, as it seemed as though every single ounce of life was being drained from his body all at once.

* * *

Sam saw Sue Ann holding her cross and reciting something in Latin. He ran up behind her, grabbed the cross, and threw it aside, breaking a glass bottle full of blood in the process. Sue Ann fell to her knees beside the blood.

“My God, what have you done!”

Sam glared at the woman. “He’s not your God.”

Sue Ann suddenly looked up and paled. She rushed to stand up, but her eyes suddenly glazed over and she fell to her knees. She slid to the ground, convulsing once--twice--and died. Throwing one last look of disgust at the woman, Sam turned and walked away to look for Dean.

* * *

Dean gasped for air as the reaper left him lying on the cold ground in the middle of the night. He felt heat return to him and color come back to his cheeks. He stayed there for a minute before shakily getting back to his feet. Then he started to head back to the Charger, and hopefully, Sam.

He made it back to the Charger just as Sam got there as well.

Sam looked Dean over worriedly. “You okay?”

Dean shook his head. “It’s been one hell of a week, man, but I got my brother back. It’ll be nice having someone to hunt with again.”

Sam stopped and glanced over at Dean, confused. “Um… What?”

“You know, saving people, hunting things, the family business.”

“Dean… I’m not coming with you. I have no idea where you even got that idea.”

Dean frowned. “But Sam, hunting together, that was… that was great. It hasn’t been like that in years. You have to come with me, we’re family, it’s the business, it’s what we do. It just seems… right. You got that too, didn’t you?”

"Dean, I went with you because you were dying and I wanted to heal you. I joined in on the ‘hunt’ because I happened to be here. I’m not hunting though, not like you. I’m going to hunt down the bastard that killed Jess and that’s it.” Sam took a deep breath before looking at his brother again. “I’m sorry, Dean. I’m not coming.”

“But Sam-”

“No! I said no. I’ll drive you back to your Impala, but that’s it. After that, I’m gone.” Sam got into his Charger, not wanting to continue the argument.

Dean scowled, reluctantly getting into the car as well. He didn’t understand Sam’s adamance at not hunting with him. He didn’t understand it and he didn’t like it. They should be in this together, but… Sam was being a bitch about it. “Fine. Drive.”

“Fine.”

* * *

It was a long, silent, and slightly awkward ride back. Sam chose to focus on the road while Dean chose to glare at the radio. He had tried to change it to classic rock, but Sam had slapped his hand away, saying ‘Driver picks the music.’ It was a stupid song, but he was too exhausted from the fight and almost dying to do anything about it. They soon arrived back to where they had left Dean’s baby, and Dean couldn’t help but smile. He really did love his baby.

Sam parked, sat for a moment, and let out a breath. “Look, Dean. It’s not like I don’t want to come with you. I just--I have to do this.”

Dean turned his attention back to Sam. “You don’t have to, Sam. You can come with me and we can sort it out together.”

Sam looked as if he would contemplate going with him, but a determined look replaced his contemplating one, and he shook his head. “Like I said, sorry.”

“You’re really gonna stick with that, huh?”

Sam nodded.

Dean sighed. “I can’t make you come with me, Sammy, as much as I wish I could. Just… do me a favor, alright? Call me. Whenever. If you need help or your goldfish died, whatever. Just keep in touch, alright?”

Sam cracked a smile and nodded again. “Yeah. Of course. If you’re dying again though, don’t drag me into another hunt.”

“Hey, you let yourself be dragged into that one,” Dean replied. “But yeah... yeah, I’ll do my best.” He let out a deep breath in preparation for getting out of the car. “Alright, then. I’ll... I’ll see you later.” He opened the car door and got out.

“Wait.” Sam got out of the car and walked around to Dean, pulling him into a hug. “Just… don’t die.”

Dean smiled. “I’ll try my hardest, but I make no promises.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

“I’ll see ya, Sam. Don’t forget to call.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“If you don’t, I’ll hunt you down myself.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Sam grinned.

“Challenge accepted,” Dean replied, displaying his own smile.

“Now get out of here.” Sam slapped Dean on the back. “We both have work to do, and I know that if anyone can complete a mission like yours, it’ll be you.”

“Yeah, alright, Sam, no chick flick moments,” Dean said.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.” Dean pulled out the keys to his baby and went to retrieve his beloved Impala. He got in and gave the engine a go, his face lighting up at the smooth noise she made. He turned up some classic rock. Then he drove off, giving Sam a small wave as he passed, pulling out onto the open road.

Sam watched until Dean disappeared. He turned, intending to get into his car when a voice spoke up.

“Sam Winchester?”

Sam whirled around to find a girl with short blonde hair and a fiery red jacket watching him--smiling at him. “Who are you?” Her smile only seemed to get bigger.

“My name is Meg, and I’m here to help you find the demon.”


End file.
